


round and round we go

by pumatatsumi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumatatsumi/pseuds/pumatatsumi
Summary: When they fell in love, Atsumu dived head first; maybe that's why he never left.He couldn't.He wouldn't.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	round and round we go

He first noticed it one morning, when he placed a kiss on Shouyou's cheek before heading out, and the miniscule tilt of Shouyou's head towards his welcoming lips was absent.

It was subtle.

It was when he droned on and on about his day at their dinner, Shouyou didn’t look at him with his lips curled in a fond smile and expectant eyes. It was their legs no longer kicking and touching under the dinner table. It was Shouyou doing the dishes himself without nagging Atsumu to dry the plates before putting them away on the top shelf.

It was Shouyou's hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie instead of Atsumu's warm ones during their movie night. It was Shouyou no longer telling him off exasperatedly when Atsumu threw random sweet treats that he doesn't even like into their shopping cart, just to listen to Shouyou rambling about healthy eating and body fat ratio.

It was Shouyou falling asleep before Atsumu finished his shower, and the glaring absence of warm cheeks against his chest when he woke up in the middle of the night.

He tried to brush it off.

After all, Shouyou needs his space. And Atsumu is now sensible enough to respect his boundaries.

But then, he learned to compare.

He learned the difference between the smile Shouyou flashes to his teammates whenever he scores, and the one Atsumu saw when he made his favorite tamago kake gohan: the smile reserved only for Atsumu didn't seem to reach his eyes.

He learned the difference in the touches that they used to share: passionate and lingering, as if their skin burns on contact, but at the same time couldn’t get enough. But now, the touch of Shouyou's hand on his as they sit down for an interview felt almost constrained, almost obligatory.

And it breaks his heart.

He needed to know.

.

It was their off night, the new season didn’t start until next month, so their practices were much more relaxed. Shouyou just finished washing up the dish, _alone_ , Atsumu noted bitterly, and was then lounging on the couch, scrolling away on his phone, the blue light reflecting off his irises, shining with excitement and curiosity, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Oh how Atsumu is gonna _hate_ this.

"Shouyou-kun? Can I ask yer something?"

The momentary pause in his fingers, the fleeting rigidity in his posture, the complete erasure of the light in his eyes, Atsumu saw it all. He gritted his teeth, his palms sweaty but his stomach had frozen over.

"Do you still… love me?" Shouyou paused for a split second, flicked his eyes to the upper left corner, before breaking into a smile familiar yet so _so_ foreign to Atsumu.

"Of course, Atsumu-san. Why are you even asking?"

Atsumu stayed rooted in his spot. His mind is running 500 miles a minute, but at the same time: empty, hollow, void.

You see, Shouyou-kun has never won a single play of poker against Atsumu, and the reason? He has this very subtle tell whenever he's lying, one so subtle probably Shouyou himself doesn't notice.

But Atsumu saw him through, whether it’s the game of poker that one night where they wagered to take off their clothes and who to go on trips to the grocery store to buy more ice cream; or this moment, when Atsumu asked if he was still in love.

"I'm just joking, obviously. We should get to bed soon, it's late," he said with a smile, or an attempt at one so bad it couldn't even convince himself. He made his way to their bedroom, his movement robotic, automated.

Sleep didn't come.

.

Tokyo in July is all stifling heat and suffocating humidity, but Atsumu has never felt so cold. When realization hit him, he swore he could have felt the frost spreading over his spine, along his nerves, and taking roots deep within his heart.

_So, my time is up._

was his first thought, though he willed himself to not to think. Atsumu braced himself for the next thought. He would probably kick himself for this. He really shouldn't be thinking this.

_What did I do wrong?_

Ah, there it is, self-hatred, rearing its ugly head. He wanted to laugh. 

_Was it my fault? Was I not enough? Had I been different, would he have stayed in love?_ The thoughts plagued his mind, spreading like a contagious disease through the rapid firing of his neurons. 

To his left, Shouyou is snoring peacefully with his face squished into the pillow, blissfully unaware of the thundering storm brewing in the man beside him. 

Atsumu signed and quietly slid off the bed. He made his way to the drawer in the corner of their room, carefully avoiding the part in the floor where it creaks. His hand gripped the drawer handle before pulling it open almost defeatedly. There, tucked in the very inner corner of the wooden box, was his secret packet of cigarettes. 

.

Night breeze rustled his dyed blond. Atsumu finally lit his cigarette after many attempts to fight the strong wind whistling through his balcony. The orange dot glowed almost too harshly in the night, leaving white streaks of smoke like paint on a dark canvas. 

Only Atsumu didn’t smoke. He watched as the glowing orange dot got brighter with the wind fueling its fire. He watched as the colorless ash helplessly clinged onto the burning fleck, before falling unceremoniously on the tiled floor. 

Atsumu gritted his eyes closed. He laughed into his hand, shoulders shaking, bitter and reeked of desperation. He laughed soundlessly, until his face ran hot, and wet. 

.

“Shouyou-kun, let’s end this.”

Shouyou cried. He didn’t. 

Shouyou said a lot through his snots and tears and hiccups: apologies, explanations, excuses, promises he couldn’t bring himself to remember. _But no opposition,_ his mind supplied, a tone almost cynical, _no resistance. He wanted to break it off._ Atsumu laughed, the sound fell from his lips curt and dry. 

Ever since that night, Atsumu had been functioning on autopilot. He ate without tasting anything, said words without meaning anything, heard sounds without understanding anything. It continued, until the day Shouyou moved out of their apartment.

“I’m home.” 

A beat. 

_Nothing_. 

The glaring absence of the glowing orange dot jolted him awake, and the chilling sensation of a much dreaded realization spreaded across his spine again. 

_Ah, he left,_ as unceremoniously as the day he walked into Atsumu’s life, bringing bright smiles and warm touches like he’d belonged there a long time ago. 

Atsumu never knew silence could be this deafening. 

Sinking into the now-too-cold-and-stiff sofa of their apartment, Atsumu stared at the ceiling. Oh how he wished they had fought, wished that a singular fuck-up had somehow torn a hole in their relationship; but instead it was void, a vast space of vagueness that left him questioning, doubting, wondering a million of what-ifs. 

.

Practice is bad.

Not bad in terms of his toss, because those are never less than perfect; but bad in the sense that he had to clench his fists to resist the urge to ruffle Shouyou's hair when he nailed a difficult set; even worse in the sense that he had to glue his eyes to the floor despite the soaring pride in his heart when Shouyou broke through the opposite side blockers with their quick sets. Atsumu knew in his guts that if he looked up for even one second, the glint in Shouyou's eyes as he flew toward the ball that Atsumu himself sent only to him would cut through his flimsy facade like a burning arrow, sending everything crashing down, bare and exposed, pitiful and pathetic.

But at times, his eyes still caught fleeting looks sent his way, looks of concern, guilt, and shame; he caught fingers itching for a touch and expectant eyes; but at the same time, halted footsteps and measured murmurs of pleasantries. Atsumu wondered if it was his observant nature subconsciously picking up seemingly trivial details, or if it had become instinctive for him to give Shouyou his undivided attention, as if the other boy demanded it. 

Either way, it was driving him mad. 

.

The worst part of every day, though, is coming home.

His mouth itching to say 'I'm home', _again_ , to the empty apartment, cold and lifeless; his trembling fingers hanging his keys to the holder where another set lay idle, untouched and unused; a pair of indoor slippers two sizes smaller than his stuck out like a mockery, a bitter reminder; he looked at his own home with contempt. 

Atsumu didn't know what would be worse: an apartment littered with mocking reminders of what used to be, or one stripped so bare it was frigid to the touch, lifeless and barren.

The pitiful state of his living room took him back to an argument he had with Osamu back in 5th grade Science, about how Earth without the Sun would eventually decay. Atsumu, being the idiot that he is, couldn’t wrap his head around the importance of 12 hours of sunlight, and ‘why would the world freeze over, we have electricity and fuel and heaters’. 

Looking at his frozen-over world, he was bitterly reminded of how much he hates to be proven wrong. 

Hanging his coat on the too-empty coat rack, Atsumu made his way to the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and let the water hit his clammy skin, as if the scorching droplets can flood out the thoughts plaguing his mind and scrub him anew. Eyes flicking to the assortment of shampoos and body wash on the shelf to his left, Atsumu felt an urge to kick himself as his hand skipped across his sandalwood shampoo and instead, grabbed the coconut scented bottle. 

It felt shameful. It felt pathetic. It felt deplorable and desperate and pitiful and sad. But just for a moment, Atsumu wanted to indulge himself in the intoxicating scent that Shouyou used to wear to sleep. 

.

“Yer look like shit,” Osamu remarked, concern masked with sarcasm. 

“I feel like shit,” Atsumu barked, but the bite in his voice dulled by the effect of alcohol. 

“Look, I’m not gonna tell yer to move on, cuz yer too much of a dickhead for that,” Osamu picked up his own drink, “but you need to get this through yer thick skull, Tsumu: It’s not yer fault. It’s not even his fault. It just happened. And now we deal with it.” 

Atsumu downed the amber liquid in his glass and passed out, an unspoken name lingered on his lips. 

.

Atsumu woke up in their bedroom, his head splitting in half. He thought about what Osamu said, _what a lovely sentiment._

He entertained the thought of moving on, of scrubbing himself anew, letting go of what was used to, and finding himself a new routine. Atsumu knew, however, deep in his guts and bones, that it would be a long _long_ time before he could move on from Hinata Shouyou, and the beautiful disaster that was their relationship. 

Atsumu does the cleaning now. 

Shouyou used to take care of the apartment, claiming that it’s therapeutic in a way, that it helps him ease up after a suspenseful match. 

Atsumu dragged a tired finger across the counter of their bedroom, dust caked up under the pad of his index finger. Contrary to his dejected demeanor last night, the conversation with Osamu _did_ inspire him to do something, perhaps a first step towards his long overdue recovery, _hopefully_. 

Like ripping off a bandage, Atsumu intended to embrace the pain in his chest, let it take over him once, and be done with it; _or spend the rest of time wallowing in a phantom ache_ , his mind supplied. But alas, he had made up his mind, and it’s time to do the cleaning, stripping the place he calls home off of all the things that make it home. 

The first thing he hates about this whole ordeal is that it reminds him of the day Shouyou left, unhurried and soundless. He left, with his bags and suitcases packed from several days before, as the night sky bled into dawn. Shouyou tried his best to be quiet, but his ankle crackled as he walked, the ball of his roughened heel shuffled heavily on the wooden floor, stepping on the creaking panel in their bedroom. The low, subtle noise of wardrobe opening and closing, of keys jamming into lockpads, of door handles turning and snapping back in place, were all too deafening to Atsumu’s eardrums. Outside their window, the sky bled. 

Shouyou left with a suitcase and a medium-sized backpack, so naturally he left behind many small, _trivial_ trinkets in the apartment: the plushie they won in a game of goldfish scooping at a distant summer festival back in Hyogo, several copies of recipe books for healthy dishes that Shouyou _insisted_ that they buy, a clear phone case with a polaroid of them at the beach, smiling blindingly at the camera; **_Atsumu himself._ **

He let out a dry laugh, that was pathetic even for him. He placed all of the objects down on the floor, his hand reaching for the cabinet of their bedroom. Upon opening, a paper bag came tumbling out of the overfilled space. Atsumu picked up the crumbled parcel to reveal what was wrapped inside: pairs upon pairs of unused indoor slippers, all brand new with their tags attached. Atsumu smiled fondly at the memory lighting up on the back of his brain like an old movie reel. 

_-_

_“Jesus, how big are your feet, really, Atsumu-san?” Shouyou says in between laughs, with his head thrown back and his voice light. This has been the fifth pair of indoor slippers they ordered online, and the god-forsaken thing can only fit four out of five of Atsumu’s toes._

_“You’re really four sizes larger than me, Atsumu-san, you big oaf!” Shouyou continued his teasing, only this time he sneaks into the crook of Atsumu’s arms, the tip of his nose touches the sensitive skin of Atsumu’s neck ever so slightly._

_It was sunlight. It was warm, so radiating and saturated with color._

-

Atsumu’s hand touched the fluffy material of the slippers, never once used. Strangely enough, he could hear Shouyou’s laughter, light and airy in his ears. Maybe that was why he wanted to hold on to them, like a desperate attempt, a hopeless plea. 

He placed the slippers down along with a million more little knick-knacks he found, each piece carrying a strip of memory Atsumu can recall in lively color. 

The gray plastic of the trash bag seemed almost _offensive_.

.

Clearing out their bedside drawers, Atsumu felt his heart sink: it froze as the frost slowly took roots in his veins, spreading through his blood. Shouyou left something, something Atsumu knew was important to him. Tucked at the back of the top drawer was the leather notebook Natsu gifted Shouyou when he graduated highschool. 

_He must have forgotten._

Atsumu braced himself for the next thought. 

_I gotta tell him._

Shit. 

The phone felt heavy in his hand, the screen too cold against his cheek, the long ringtone thundering in his ears. Atsumu closed his eyes, and willed himself to breathe through his nostrils. 

“Atsumu-san?” 

_He sounded surprised._

“Hi, Sh-. Hinata-kun. Just calling to say ya, er… left something at ou-, my place.”

_Jesus, get yourself together._

“Oh...? Sorry,” Shouyou paused, as if busied himself walking out to a more quiet place, “what is it, Atsumu-san?” 

_Is he with someone?_

“The leather notebook Natsu gave yer, ya left it here.”

_Careful with your tone, Tsumu._

“Oh..OH! Crap! I totally forgot about that.”

Atsumu pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes gritted closed. 

“Do ya want me to bring it to ya?”

_Whatever the answer, he dreaded._

“Oh...no! No, you don’t need to bother yourself, Atsumu-san.” 

_Oh._

“.....But actually, I’m...in the neighborhood, so maybe I can stop by to pick it up...in about an hour?” 

_Well, that was unexpected._

“...Uh, yeah, sure. Whenever ya find it convenient. I’m at home all day, so… ”

 _Home_. There’s something mournful, something bitter, almost acidic in the sound. He noticed a poignant pause in Shouyou’s answer. 

“Yeah, uh… I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” 

“Yeah.”

 _Click_. 

1 minute and 47 seconds . _A 107-second long phone call._ Funny how that’s the longest conversation they’ve had in _months_. 

.

Atsumu felt no sense of urgency as the time drew near Shouyou’s arrival. After all, he had definitely cleaned the apartment in every possible sense of the word. Thus, he simply sat on the sofa, _his_ side of the sofa, and waited for the familiar rattling of keys inserting into lock pads. 

49 minutes later, there was a _knock_ on the door.

_Ah, he left his keys._

The distance from the living room to their apartment door seemed strangely arduous. Atsumu passed by the pair of keys hung neatly on the hook next to the doorway. The glint of metal was cold and mocking. 

His hand felt heavy on the handle. After a beat, it turned, and the door swung open. 

There Shouyou was, standing in the doorway in all of his gleaming sunlight glory. For a fleeting second, Atsumu forgot how to breathe. It was as if a warm spring breeze had swept over his desolated world; and just for a painfully short moment, his world was once again back in color, vivid and alive. 

“Atsumu-san? You said you have the notebook?” Shouyou asked, his head cocked to the side, his whole demeanor so _infuriatingly_ normal. 

“Right.”

 _Cold_.

_He was here for a reason, dumbass._

“I put it on the coffee table. You can come in.” 

The last sentence felt achingly obsolete. 

Shouyou toed off his shoes and stepped in, the material of his sock soft against the wooden floor.

“Thanks Atsumu-san! Natsu would kill me if I lost this.” He smiled, the one where his eyes crinkled, “Ya saved my life!”

Atsumu froze. Suddenly it felt as if all was right in the world, that finally everything had snapped back in place, where they rightfully belonge-

“I gotta run, though,” He scratched his neck. Atsumu didn’t dare to look him in the eyes. “Yachi is picking me up. She’s right downstairs.” 

The whiplash left him reeling. He didn’t even remember replying. But when Shouyou turned to leave, Atsumu couldn’t help the choked sound he made that vaguely resembled his name.

“Why?” He breathed out next, the sound slightly more audible than a whisper; he couldn’t trust his voice any louder than that. 

Shouyou stopped dead in his tracks. The frigidity took hold from his shoulder blades, spreading across his spine and ending on the tips of his fingers. The ball of his heel spun Shouyou back slowly, his eyes wide and raw. 

“Atsumu-san, we’ve been over this. There’s nothing wrong,” he looked away, “I just think we’re better off as friends.” 

Once again, Atsumu couldn’t find in himself the strength to lash out. He wanted to scream himself hoarse, to shout the millions of questions haunting his mind. But instead, he closed his eyes.

“Good bye, Hinata.” 

The shuffling of feet, the sound of shoes against the floor, the click of the handle opening and snapping back in place, deafening. Outside his window, the sky bled. 

.

Closures are overrated. 

He didn’t need one. He had no plan of moving on. Atsumu learned to cope, and to cope was to remove.

Akin to cutting off a part of his soul and leaving behind a scar that never heals, Atsumu removed Hinata Shouyou from his life. 

He removed Hinata’s keys from the hook in the doorway, removed the habit of saying “I’m home” upon returning, removed the need for warm cheeks against his chest on cold winter nights.

He learned to let go of old routines, of making two portions of breakfast in the morning, of stocking up on Salonpas patches and vitamins, of picking up an extra meat bun on his nightly convenient store runs. 

He tried to adopt new habits, too. He plants now, small pots of greenery to replace what once were. It kept him busy. And it gives the apartment some color too, or so Bokuto said. 

But Atsumu has secrets. Shameful, pathetic, deplorable, desperate and pitiful and sad secrets. No one has caught onto him yet, but Osamu was close. 

“Dude, why does yer bathroom smell like a Brazillian spa? I thought ya hate tropical fruits?” 

Atsumu laughed and punched his brother on the shoulder, their conversation abandoned. 

.

“Crap, I forgot shaving cream.”

Atsumu strode across the supermarket aisles, zooming past tired mothers and their overly excited kids. He had to give up his place in the check out line for this, _great._

“Where is it, where is it,” he said to no one but himself, with his eyes scanning the men’s hygiene products. “Maybe I should just say f-”

Something caught Atsumu’s eyes. A glowing dot of orange, looking straight at him. 

_Oh._

There stood Hinata Shouyou, still in all of his gleaming sunlight glory, midway of a supermarket aisle, his eyes wide and raw. 

in his hand, a bottle of sandalwood shampoo. 

It was subtle.

**Author's Note:**

> This marks the FIRST ever fic I write for Atsuhina, the subject of my week-long brainrot sessions. The biggest thank you goes out to yesu, my bro my best friend, for being the best emotional support and the greatest hype-man for both me and this fic. She had more faith in me than I ever will, she deserves the world. This fic started the day I dm-ed yesu, and she's been with me from start to finish. So in a way, this is for you, bro. I hope I didn't disappoint. 
> 
> If you reached the end of this mess of a fic, I can't thank you enough. Feedback are most welcome!
> 
> Scream about atsuhina with me on twitter @nntt_lhp


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